Arrangements
by swirlpop
Summary: Ack! Who knew arranging playdates could lead to so much trouble? Apparently, they can if you throw an arrogant Saiyajin and a hotheaded Earthling into the mix. A multi-chapter fic of Vegeta & Chichi's attraction to each other. G/CC, V/B, and infidelity!
1. Monday

**A/N:  
**I really don't know what spurred this fic on. Really. I'm certain it's the result of too much homework and obscenely late nights. Either way, here is a semi-quick multiple chapter fic of Vegeta and Chichi ACTUALLY INTERACTING WTFlolz.

(This was formerly a one-shot, but a tiny plot bunny came along and snagged me in the butt.)

Pairing-wise: Goku/Chichi, Vegeta/Bulma, and some hearty yarns of attraction between Vegeta and Chichi. Also, infidelity makes its debut between the said two. Dear Tension: have fun being cut! Love, Knife.

Reviews (especially critical ones) are greatly appreciated, as always! :3 I'm always looking to improve my writing.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Monday.**  
-

A purple-haired boy pouted and folded his arms with indignity, ripped from the pride bestowed by his birthright. "Papa, why are you still carrying me?"

A white glove clenched the back of the boy's shirt, a few hundred meters above the earth. The glove's owner gave the body a quick shake and muttered, "Quiet, you!"

Trunks and Vegeta were making fast headway to the Son residence, the humble yet cozy home snuggled amongst the hills of Mount Paozu. Though his son could fly, Vegeta was never one for patience. The boy flew at too slow a pace. Trunks was only 4, yes, but Kakarotto's older brat was able to do much, much more impressive things than his own brat at the same age. Vegeta glared up at the heavens and cursed; even in absence, Kakarotto was getting the best of him.

After a few more moments of terse flying, they saw puffs of smoke chugging happily out of a modest chimney. "Finally!" Trunks exclaimed as soon as he saw the smoke. "We're here, we're here! I can hardly wait to see Goten!" The broad grin on his face was a sure indicator that he forgot all about his broken ego - it was a carbon copy of his best friend's own goofy grin.

Vegeta glanced down at his overjoyed son. "Don't you dare start looking like him now." He then let go of the impatient, squirming mass under his hand while smirking to himself. After all, Bulma did say to 'drop Trunks off at Son-kun's house'.

With nary a second thought, Trunks' instinct kicked in as he controlled his ki and flew down to the ground. He landed in front of the Son's door without a thimbleful of grace, stumbling over his feet several times before righting himself. Vegeta frowned from his spot in the air; he thought the boy would do better than _that_. With a disapproving sigh, he lowered himself down to the earth and followed in silence.

Unable to contain his excitement, the boy plowed the front door down and ran through the house as if it were his own. "Goten," Trunks cried throughout his newly invaded household, "Goten!" He sped past the rooms he knew like the back of his hand, seeking out his partner in crime.

Upon hearing his best friend's voice, the three year old Goten leaped out of the living room where he was playing with his toys. "Trunks!" he exclaimed, while racing towards the sound of the voice. They collided halfway through their individual sprints - which was unfortunately in the kitchen, in view of the two eyes at the back of Son Chichi's head.

With an annoyed tick of her eyebrow, she turned around from her vegetables in the sink and glowered at them. "Boys! How many times must I tell you? No running in the house!" She towered over them with balled fists on her hips, looking from one to the other in menace.

A millisecond later, both of them were untangled with their heads low in deference. "Sorry ma'am," they mumbled in unison. Almost as fast as they untangled, they were in a rough and tumble ball again, play fighting each other over all the area they could cover.

Vegeta let out an amused snort, watching their limbs sprawl all over each place. Chichi, however, was not amused at the presence of the unexpected noise. "Vegeta!" she exclaimed as she jolted in surprise. "When did you get in?"

He shook his head at the woman and rolled his eyes as he walked towards her. "How unobservant." He nodded back at the door frame he was standing in. "I was there the entire time, woman." Determining himself close enough in her proximity, he leaned against the refrigerator behind him and folded his arms across his chest.

"Hmph." Chichi tossed her head and moved away from Vegeta, turning her attention back to the sink to continue washing the vegetables. With a tangential note in her voice, she muttered, "You would do well to learn some manners, Vegeta. Haven't you ever heard of knock-"

"Don't lecture me," he interjected in a sharp voice. "If you're going to berate someone under your roof, it had better only be your two brats or Trunks."

Rather pleased that Vegeta gave her leeway to discipline his son, Chichi decided to incline to the man's orders – for now. "Alright, alright," she said with a casual wave of her hand. "Now, what do you really want, Vegeta? You usually don't even see Trunks in through the door."

Vegeta tilted his head down and closed his eyes, mostly out of annoyance at Chichi becoming a pestilence. "Trunks will be spending the night here."

"Well, you should have asked me instead of telling me - but it's fine, of course. I'm sure the boys will love that, and Trunks has more than enough of his things here. Did Bulma tell you to ask me?"

Vegeta decided not to dignify her last obnoxious remark with words; he answered the question with an affirmative grunt.

"…I see," she said. Her conversations with Vegeta, if one could call them that, were almost nonexistent - and she was unsure about continuing this one or not. She decided to busy herself with washing more vegetables; he would certainly leave sooner than later. Even if she were to end the brief chat by saying goodbye, he wouldn't return the niceties. It was pointless. She finished scrubbing the vegetables and proceeded to bustle around the kitchen, paying Vegeta no mind. He was a big boy, he'd see himself out. Preparing food for her children and Trunks was no easy task, and she had to get a head start on it – in Vegeta's presence or not.

The prince stood in the same position for a while, keeping his eyes closed with his head tucked down and his arms crossed against the broad rays of his chest. Without a sound, he watched Trunks and Goten squeal and run out of the room, probably to do whatever trouble they usually did. "Idiots." He shook his head yet again, clicking his tongue and folding his knee so he could prop the sole of his foot against the refrigerator door.

"Foot down, Vegeta," commented a stern Chichi without looking up.

Vegeta didn't move an inch. "Are you capable of not nagging all the damned time, woman?"

Chichi shot him a nasty glare while wiping the soup spoons at the dining table dry; she decided to evade the question. "Is there any particular reason why you're still here?"

His eyes finally lifted, only to look at the woman with a glint of malicious mischief in his stare. "I don't know how Kakarotto puts up with you and all that nagging. The Other World must be a vacation for him."

Dumbfounded and burning a vibrant shade of red, Chichi started to wipe the back of a spoon with increased vigor. "What? If you're going to stand there, only to insult my relationship with my husband, my _strong_ relationship," she shouted, clearly unsettled and on the defensive, "then maybe I should just kick you out!"

Vegeta was behind her before she could use the spoon as her makeshift shuriken.

Using lightening speed, he searched out Goten and Trunks' ki. He was glad to note that they were tucked away in Goten's room and not able to see what would happen to an insolent woman. The last thing he wanted were 4 little fists punching - no, tickling - his back. He did another check, this time for Gohan. The boy was thankfully off at the library, most likely doing some project forced onto him by his mother. By the time Vegeta finished searching, the spoon was making harsh contact with the refrigerator.

Before she could turn around or even make a sound, Vegeta had Chichi's arms pinned behind her back with her two wrists secured in the tight grip of his hand. He moved his mouth closer to her ear, wanting to make sure she would hear every thick word. "You dare attack me?" he commented in a dangerous, hushed tone.

"Let go of me!" Chichi barked as she tried to wriggle out of the iron-clad grasp. "I'm not afraid of you!"

Vegeta merely chuckled at Chichi's struggling. "I thought you were going to kick me out," he chided, entertained by the situation. "How typical for a woman, to be all talk. It seems that this makes you so very weak, doesn't it?"

This, in turn, was the last straw for Chichi. "Weak? Weak? I am the strongest woman on Earth, Vegeta! I am married to the strongest man! We have the strongest children! Don't you call me... call me _weak_!"

Vegeta furrowed his eyebrows, oblivious to the fact that he was holding her tighter out of his own growing anger. In his eyes, Chichi just blatantly gloated her own family's supposed superiority before him. He squeezed down even harder on her wrists, determined to make her feel the repercussion of her boasts. "What did you just say?" he growled.

In a move that Vegeta would never fathom in a million years, Chichi somehow managed to pull herself free from the hold – and also spin around to face him. All fury was on the woman's face; her eyes flashed like a thousand black holes awaiting their collapse. She scanned the features of his arrogant face up and down, then scowled at its lack of remorse or respect.

"Don't touch me."

A loud slap left the imprint of her left palm flashing its heat against Vegeta's cheek.

"Say what you have to say and leave," she said in a tone of all ice. "Gohan will take Trunks home tomorrow."

'_What is this?' Vegeta _thought as he blinked in anger was pushed aside by his shock. How could she even think to lay a finger, let alone a hand on him? Didn't she know _who he _was?

And then, he understood.

Bulma was a firebrand to say the least, but Chichi now seemed to be on a completely unreachable plane in comparison. Bulma couldn't generate a sizable ki even if she built a machine to help her - but here, in front of his very own eyes, was an Earthling female who could stand up to him. Well, for the whole of about 5 seconds of course, but it was spirit that counted. Oh yes, Chichi had this in spades: how she had all the Son men wrapped around her little finger, how brash and dominant she was, how she never failed to voice her opinion no matter how vexatious it was. Spades.

She and Bulma were both easily alpha females on their planet - Bulma much more so than Chichi, with her incredible genius and wealth - but only Chichi had the chutzpah necessary to be truly elite on Vegetasei. Her human body was the only setback.

Kakarotto had bested him again.

He had the superior mate.

Damn him.

With complete jealousy fueling his thoughts and actions, he seized the wrist of the hand that slapped him and saturated Chichi in his bitter glare. This time, she wouldn't get away. He made sure of that, gripping tighter than before on the feminine skin beneath his palm. Her resulting cry of pain made his blood grow hotter for a split second - he had almost forgotten how good the domination of a worthy female felt. Bulma was certainly fine enough, but her qualities were too intangible. Wealth and social status? That was all good and well, but Chichi had something more valuable that Bulma simply didn't: sheer physical strength.

Gods, this felt good.

After reveling in contentment for a moment more, he snapped his mind to the present situation. It wouldn't do to have her notice his prior flash of satisfaction. Besides, she was starting to squirm. He had to end this.

"Look, woman!" he spat, curling his fingers harder into her wrist. He was rewarded with another apt cry and he continued on. "I only milled around this God-forsaken place to see if that damned child of yours could come over to spend the weekend. Before you get any bright ideas, I could care less if the idiot fell off a cliff, but _Bulma_," he stressed, "apparently misses him and wants to spend time with the brat." He threw down Chichi's wrist and snarled at her through gritted teeth. "I was just taking my time to construct what I was going to say, fool. I would rather die than have you think I'd personally ask for your hellspawn to stay in my house."

Chichi's eyes grew wide as she gingerly held her left wrist in her hand. She was stunned. Delicate maiden she was not, but it had been a while since she had been so... manhandled. A perplexed expression came upon her - a mix of offense and disbelief appeared on the landscape of her face. What was wrong with this man?

Suddenly resolute, she forced herself to look away from Vegeta and fix her gaze on the stove. "I don't know what Bulma sees in you," she said in a soft air of finality.

Vegeta smirked. "I'll take that for a yes. She will come pick your brat up herself." The man pivoted on his heel and strode away from Chichi. "My regards to your children," he noted in a sarcastic tone, leaving as though nothing had happened at all.

Chichi continued watching the stove, holding her breath until she heard the inevitable slam of the front door. She took a deep exhale and turned to face the table, scrambling back to the cutlery and cloth. How could Vegeta even do this to her? She busied her physical being with wiping the spoons again - but her emotional being was a wreck. Never did she miss her husband more than she did now.

Never would he have allowed that to take place.

'_Please visit soon, Goku-sa_,' she thought, fighting off the tears that frosted her lashes.

And that was the only amount of sadness she allowed herself to feel.

A moment later, she was humming a pleasant tune and slicing bell peppers – and she was also devoid of any tumultuous emotion she had felt prior. It was all locked away in a box inside of her, somewhere where no one but herself could reach it.

It would be best to forget that situation ever occurred.

So she did.

Peering around the corner were two pairs of curious eyes, expertly spying on the ruckus they had noticed earlier. Like a totem pole, Goten was kneeling on the floor and Trunks had his head resting on top of the unruly black tufts. As they tried their best to digest the scene they just saw, all they could do, was blink.

"Ah, Trunks, your dad is a meanie!" Goten whispered, peeking up at his counterpart with wide, rounded eyes.

Trunks glanced down at his best friend and gave him a halfhearted shrug. "I know, Goten. I know."


	2. Friday

**Friday.  
**-

"Goten, Trunks! Stop playing around! Gather your things and get down here this instant!"

Chichi took her cupped hands down from her mouth and walked away from the foot of the stairway, quirking her eyebrow in annoyance at their tardiness. "Those two!" She stomped back to the living room and the cheery presence of Bulma, who was sitting on the sofa while sipping her tea. "Oh, Chichi." She placed her teacup the table before her and said, "It's okay, you know. They can take their time."

After taking a seat next to Bulma, Chichi closed both of her eyes in a visage of self-important prudence. She held up a lone pointer finger and said, "To always be early is to always be wise."

Bulma blinked.

"And besides," she continued, "I don't trust them when they don't respond for more than 5 minutes - and it's been 4 minutes and 27 seconds since I called them the first time. They've got 33 seconds!"

Bulma almost fell out of her chair.

"You have this down to a science, don't you?"

Chichi plucked at the sleeves of her cardigan and chuckled. "With a pair like them, you have to!"

Bulma nodded her appreciation while laughing in reply. "I'm beginning to think introducing them to each other was a bad idea!"

However, the second hand on the clock on the wall valiantly fought to distract them from their laughter - and it won. Their snickers ebbed as they both watched its fractional movements, being nothing but transfixed.

_5... 4... 3... 2... 1._

Flashing blurs flew off of the sofa.

Goten and Trunks, with their impeccable hearing, dropped their crayons as soon as they heard the women bounding up the stairs. Goten let out a small peep of terror. "Oh, no!"

"Not good," Trunks simpered. "Hide!"

Chichi barged through the door to Goten's room, screaming, "Time's up!" She scanned the room with expertise as she looked for the boys, who by now were well out of sight.

Bulma peered around Chichi's side and squinted her eyes. "What are you two up to?"

Their sweeping gaze finally settled on the wall to their right - which just happened to be covered in massive doodles in every color imaginable. Their mouths slackened at the sight.

And then the only color Bulma and Chichi could see was red.

Goten and Trunks' sixth sense for furious mothers caused them to pop their heads out from underneath the bed. They weren't fools; they were fully aware that they had a pair of fuming mothers to heed. Trunks nudged Goten in the side to get his attention. "You talk, it's your house!" he said in a hiss.

"You're so mean, Trunks!" Goten cried. "Fine…."

He scuttled forward a bit and looked at the ground, pouting while circling his index fingers around each other. "Mama… well, you see… w-we ran out of paper..."

The women gaped, looking at the two heads in disbelief.

"Trunks…" Chichi said through gritted teeth.

"Goten…" Bulma added, just as irritated.

They put their hands on their waists and shouted at the same time, "In the hovercraft! _NOW_!"

"Yes ma'am!" the pair squeaked while sprinting out the room.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with those two!" Chichi exclaimed as she ran her hand over the scribbles. She pulled it away and eyed the wall with a hint of exasperation. '_Yet another thing to clean today.'_

Bulma sighed and shook her head. "You and me both. At least you'll get a break for the weekend!" She walked over to her friend and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Want me to give you a hand with this before we go?"

"Oh, I'll be alright. Thank you, though." Bulma nodded and busied herself with getting the kids' backpacks from off the bed.

Chichi slipped off her warm cardigan and tied it around her shoulders, knotting the arms in the way she always wore it. She was feeling a bit chilly earlier this morning, and she had decided to throw it on - but now, it was time to work. Having the cardigan on would only overheat her.

Bulma looked over at her friend to say her goodbyes, but something out of the ordinary on Chichi's pristine skin caught her immediate attention. "Chichi." She stalked over and boldly pointed at the woman's arms. "I know for a fact that you haven't been sparring. What are those marks around your wrists? They look like... hand imprints."

Chichi glanced down at her wrists; this was the first time she even noticed the faint, purple-blue swells of color. She was so used to seeing bruises on her boys that she didn't know hers existed. Apparently Gohan and Goten didn't pay attention to the bruises either, because they never mentioned it.

"Tch, these?" she said, shrugging it off. "It's nothing. When Vegeta dropped Trunks over… well, Vegeta just got carried away. That's all."

"What?" Bulma's eyes went wide in complete shock. "Why didn't you tell me anything?"

Chichi sniffed in pride. "I promise, it really is nothing! It was incredibly rude of him, but I'm a former martial artist. I've received much worse in my lifetime."

"That's not the point!" The blue-haired woman stomped her foot into the ground, falling back several years in maturity. "He shouldn't have laid a hand on you in the first place!" She hesitated for a moment, and a foggy nostalgia clouded her face. Unable to look Chichi in the face, she averted her eyes. "You know," she muttered, "if Son-kun was here, this wouldn't have hap—"

"Don't say it. Please, Bulma, don't say it." Chichi had her arms folded, and she was now gazing out the window. Her stance was stoic, and her glassy stare was fixated on the smooth, rolling hills her husband had loved so much.

Bulma knew that when Chichi's eyes glazed over like that, it was a fruitless mission to try and reach out to her. It was near impossible to break through the barrier of her emotions and pull her true feelings out. Bulma also knew that she couldn't leave Vegeta to do what he wanted without reprimand. "Alright," she said. "But tonight I'm going to talk to Vegeta and tell him he can't do these things. Just because Son-kun is—"

"Bulma."

"Ah, right. Sorry. Well, I'll talk to him, ok?"

"Thank you." Chichi inclined her head towards her friend and gave her a small smile, which packed all the gratitude she could muster.

Bulma grinned back in her usual confident manner. "Good, it's settled then! I'll knock him back into place. And as far as the kids are concerned, I'll call Gohan on Sunday so he can come get Goten." She shifted the backpacks from one hand to the other. "God, these are heavy," she mumbled. "Take care of yourself, you hear?" After shooting Chichi a final, brilliant smile, she made her way out, two backpacks in tow.

Chichi calmly watched Bulma go, then walked over to the window that had held her view captive. She swung the panes open and closed her eyes, resting her hands on the windowsill. The rays of the sun were welcome companions to Chichi; they danced comfortable silhouettes over her body, blanketing her with a layer of soothing, penetrating warmth. It was almost as if Goku was there, beaming down at her and enveloping her with the humble solace of his simple touch. However, as radiant as the light was, it still couldn't pierce the dark of her thoughts. "Take care of myself, hm?" she whispered, letting her words take flight into the sun.

"You'll love this new toy, Goten!"

Trunks leaped out of the hovercraft and started running toward the giant domes of his Capsule Corp. household. Goten, of course, wasn't far behind. He clapped his hands with delight and shouted back, "Can I have it?"

"Ugh, no way!"

Bulma chuckled at the two boys running into her home - they never failed to amuse her. She jumped out of the hovercraft herself and followed after them, stepping into the sweet opulence of the warm dusk air. This was contentment; she was convinced.

But her laughter faded. A gust of wind rolled through the area, stealing her jovial mood.

She was left with a foreboding feeling in its wake.

Asking Vegeta about Monday's events was absolutely mandatory. She loved him in her own unconventional way, yes, but she could never stand for him hurting the other people she loved. Sparring partners were a different story, but Chichi or any other non-threatening female? No. The answer would be no, and anything other than a no would be like thrusting a knife made of betrayal into her heart.

She walked into the house and was greeted by the lush living room past the foyer. A flick of her wrist left her capsule case landing on the coffee table; she let out a sigh. Time to get this over with.

"Vegeta!" she shouted, looking around the room as if she could see where he was. "Where are you? I need to talk to you!"

"Woman," yelled a voice from behind a wall, "Stop your yelling! I'm in the kitchen!" Vegeta hawked a bite out of his sukiyaki preemptively glared at the doorway that he knew Bulma was going to barge through.

Sure enough, Bulma busted through the doorway, looking annoyed as ever. She returned the scowl Vegeta was giving her and slammed her palm on the kitchen counter, rattling the various knick-knacks there. "First of all," she screeched, "I can't believe you're telling me to stop yelling, by _yelling_!"

Vegeta responded by chewing on a particularly tender part of his beef.

Bulma rolled her eyes in aggravation and pulled the bowl of sukiyaki away from him, placing it under her watch. "Pay attention!"

"You idiot!" the man said through a mouthful of food. "Give that back!" He reached over to grab the bowl back, but was interrupted by her iron fist over his hand.

"And second, what the hell did you do to Chichi on Monday? Did you hurt her?"

Vegeta's visage darkened as he recollected the memory. "No!" he barked. "And shouldn't you have learned by now that only fools stand between me and my food?" He snatched back his hand and pushed her aside with ease, going once more for his plate.

Bulma yelped in surprise as she was knocked sideways. She took a few jagged steps to regain her balance, but her surprise turned to anger when she saw Vegeta hunch over the sukiyaki again. '_Alright,'_ she growled to herself_, 'so you want to play rough, eh?'_

"But, Vegeta..." she purred out in a creamy voice. It was lined with silk and velvet, and adorned with diamonds and pearls. It was The Voice, and it was ruthless when it came out to attack.

Vegeta's head snapped up. She wouldn't.

"Will you please tell me the truth about what happened Monday?" Bulma snuggled up against Vegeta's muscular back, curling her arms like sinew around his waist. She pressed a small kiss in the crook of his neck, keening and pressing her body against him.

Vegeta peeked down at the dainty hands now tracing intimate patterns across the span of his chest. _'This blasted woman….' _

He knew that if Bulma could see the reddening of his cheeks, she would take his fluster and run with it. Fast. He also knew that his happily-ever-after days with the gravity room were over if she found out how severe his temper was with Chichi.

The force he used on Chichi's wrists were enough to shatter the bones of a regular human, like Bulma for instance – but fortunately, Chichi wasn't a regular human. No, no, wait. That was all wrong_._ He had to stop thinking of her in a positive light. She was his deceased rival's wife; therefore all negative feelings towards Kakarotto now had to be redirected to her and her spawn. His thoughts, however, were interrupted when Bulma noticed his downfall.

"My my," Bulma teased with speckles of malice in her voice. "Is that a blush I see, Vegeta?"

Her comment only made his cheeks flush even more. "Saiyajin do not blush!" he bellowed, snapping out of his calculative reverie. "You've had your fun, now get your hands off of me!"

As soon as he uttered the words, his mind couldn't help but fly back to the situation on Monday. Chichi had said something along those same lines. '_No! Stop thinking about that!'_

"Release me already, woman!" He pushed downwards on Bulma's hands, trying to break free without harming her, but it was too late for him to notice that this move was a bad idea.

"Oh? So you want me to touch down there, do you?"

'_No! Nonono!'_ Vegeta's face paled and he promptly pulled her hands up, settling them back on his waist. He detested how vulgar she was at times. It was no way to talk to a Prince, but Earthlings – especially the one he mated with – didn't hold this regard in esteem.

"That's what I thought. Now will you answer my question?"

After a long and arduous battle, Vegeta gave up on the impossible venture of unlatching Bulma's hold. He took up folding his arms and grinding his teeth in annoyance instead. "You seem incapable of understanding that nothing happened," he said in a flat tone, losing his patience. "Even if something did indeed happen, why would I want to indulge you with that information?"

In sheer melodrama, Bulma yanked herself away. "Stop lying! I won't stand for you harming any of my friends who you don't spar with. Those bruises on Chichi's wrists were no ordinary bruises!"

Vegeta smiled to himself – did she think he was born yesterday? He would be damned before he fell into the obvious trap she laid out: she was trying to get him to admit to putting those bruises there. Hypothetically, if he didn't do it, then he wouldn't know that she was bruised. Simple. She must have _really_ thought he was born yesterday.

Turning to face her, he tilted his head and didn't bother hiding the fact that he was feigning a deep concern. "Oh, she has bruises on her wrists, does she?" he lightly remarked. "And it's from someone hurting her, you say? How curious."

Bulma clenched her fists and jumped from one foot to the other in pure frustration. "Vegeta!" she screamed. "You are so damn impossible!" She flung her hands onto his sculpted shoulders and shook them as hard as she could - which, incidentally, wasn't hard at all.

Vegeta laughed at her pathetic efforts and reached for his glass of water nearby. He took a large swig, placed it back down, and then gave her cheek a few patronizing pats. "There, there," he cooed, sarcasm thick in his voice. "I'm sure you'll be able to outsmart me one day."

With a bitter snarl, Bulma let go of his shoulders and nudged his hand away. "Why should I have to do that when I have a gravity room to play with?"

Vegeta's face fell. "What?"

"You heard me. I think I'm going to have to make a few adjustments, if you know what I mean."

He narrowed his eyes at her, certain that she was raising a bluff. "You wouldn't dare touch—"

"You're damn right I would!" Bulma cut in. "After all, you're holding back important information from me. Oh, well. I suppose you'll learn your lesson when I make the maximum output in the gravity room 20 G." She shot him a wicked smile, looking far too proud of herself.

"What?" he shrieked. "20?"

She returned the patronizing pat on the cheek. "There, there," she said in the same sarcastic tone. "I'm sure you'll be able to outsmart me one day." With that, she sauntered out of the kitchen and in the direction of the gravity room, completely and utterly satisfied with herself.

"No! Y-you come back here! Put it right! Put it right, damn you!" Vegeta pounded his fist on the counter and then threaded his hands through his hair, clutching the wiry strands with remarkable force. This was a lose-lose situation. He would either have to deal with 20 G, which might as well have been 0 G, until Bulma forgot this ever happened - or risk losing the room for quite some time if he told Bulma the truth. He was in between a rock and a hard place, and Chichi was the cause.

'_She probably yapped her filthy trap as soon as Bulma got over there,'_ he thought with pure venom. His eyebrows knitted themselves into a fury. '_Of course she would run her mouth about what happened. I was a fool to let her remind me of a Saiyajin woman! How could I have even drawn a parallel between a mere Earthling and a Saiyajin in the first place? Now I don't have a proper training facility because of her! Damn her to hell!'_

Vegeta stomped off to the room he slept in whenever he and Bulma fought – meaning that he was in there quite often. It was a blank and austere bedroom; a simple window with a simple bed were the only inhabitants. He preferred it this way - there were no silly human trinkets around, no scents or noises to overload his sensitive Saiyajin senses. It was the perfect room for introspection.

He swooped down and threw himself down on the bed, nearly breaking it in his scathing wrath. Never had his thoughts been on Son Chichi so much. She wasn't a subject he was fond of, and he still didn't forget how his instincts leapt in joy from holding a solid, muscular woman beneath his hand.

Vegeta shut his eyes and shook his head, as if the action would chuck the memory out of him. He was disgusted with himself for possessing even a diminutive lust for this horrid, ever-harping woman.

He was even more disgusted with himself for having a tiny, nagging voice in his mind worry about how Bulma would feel if she knew.

Chichi was invading his thoughts, embedding herself and leaving deep imprints on his psyche.

And that, to be frank, was unacceptable.

For this, she would pay a severe price. Her presence was simply… irrelevant.


	3. Saturday, Part I

_Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence and is somewhat dark in nature. _

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* * *

_

**Saturday, Part I.  
**-

Vegeta was awake in his bed ever since 4:30 AM, and the lone clock on the wall now pointed its hands to 7AM. He cast a glance at the clock - he was supposed to be in his gravity room two hours ago.

_Two_ hours. Gone to waste.

Rays of sunlight were now overstaying their welcome as they crept along his face. With a grumble, he shut his eyes when the sunbeams finally invaded his sight. The sun was taunting him for staying under the sheets; it knew that he should have been tossing punches and throwing roundhouses right now, underneath the beautiful watch of 600 G. Unfortunately, all he had was 20 G - and to train under 20 G would be infidelity, not to mention a travesty.

Instead of being up and about, he had been thinking about his course of action with someone who was too insignificant to be in his thoughts in the first place. If it wasn't for her, he would be wooing his love of training right now, instead of mulling over what he was going to do.

His modes of training were now obsolete. There was no Kakarotto to spar, and now thanks to the third class' wife, there was no gravity room.

He had nothing.

He had nothing, and it was all _her_ fault.

Vegeta snarled at the thought.

In one fell swoop, he tore the light cover off of his body. She surely had to know about the problem her big mouth had caused. If only she didn't provoke him, if only she didn't tell Bulma about what happened, if only—

Yes. There was no doubt about it. She created this problem. In Vegeta's eyes, being the cause of a problem was as bad as being the problem itself.

So it was in his best interest to rectify the problem.

Without batting an eye, he jumped out of the bed and bent at the waist, going straight into a hamstring stretch. He followed with extending his left leg into a split, anchoring his balance with perfection.

But wait.

Why was he stretching?

He didn't have to stretch to take care of this particular problem.

An arrogant smirk crept along his lips when he concentrated his ki beneath his feet. He glanced at the window to his right - then blasted straight out of the room, breaking the glass with ease. Even though the raging wind of his aura whipped around his face, threatening to erase his expression, the smirk still remained as he casually picked off the small shards of glass on his suit.

"To hell with what Bulma thinks," he growled to himself. "To hell with what they all think. Kakarotto's wife is going to pay."

Setting ice-washed linen to crisp in the breeze was a favorite chore of Son Chichi. It soothed her to clip neat, hemmed edges onto clotheslines so carefully strewn amongst the boughs of trees. While most people found dripping as an annoyance, she found it refreshing when droplets of water snuck down her arms and rolled upon her stomach. To top it off, the fragrance that always lingered afterwards was the one of Home. It was a sweet, light blend of her, her sons, and laundry detergent - and it never failed to comfort her.

Chichi finished hanging up the clothes and wiped her hands dry on her apron. "All done," she sang. She picked up the wicker basket she used to bring out the clothes, and propped it against her waist. A smile of satisfaction kissed her lips as she evaluated her work. There was nothing like a sea of cotton sheets fluttering against a dawn sky filled with creamy yellows and pastel azures. The few stars glimmering in the Western sky were challenging the breaking daylight – a cheeky reminder that the morning was still young.

One of those stars, strangely enough, seemed to be darting across the sky; it also seemed rather close to the Earth. It caught Chichi's adept attention with ease. She shielded her view and squinted up at the sky. What was that? Was it Gohan?

It had to be.

She smiled at her now fleeting doubt. Who else would it be? Gohan had left about 10 minutes ago to go find some fish for breakfast – but it looked like he was back early. It usually took him about half an hour to bring back a good haul.

No matter. He was just getting better at what he was doing. He _was_ her son, after all.

"Gohan!" she cheerily yelled to the flashing shot across the sky. "That was a lot faster than usual! You must be especially hungry this morning, hm?" With a bright chuckle, she turned so she could head inside to start up breakfast. If Gohan was picking up his pace, she had to as well.

A soft thud alerted her that the person came into contact with the ground - and Chichi then knew it wasn't her eldest son.

"Oh?" came a throaty masculine voice from behind her. "Going back inside already?"

_Vegeta._

Chichi snapped around and scowled at the man who was very much not Gohan. "We didn't arrange anything for the children," she spat. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't have the privilege of asking questions."

Vegeta was trying his best to be as calm as possible. He was keeping both his rage and his ki down; any sudden wrong moves and Gohan would reach them without delay. He had already sensed the boy in the vicinity, and an altercation with him would be entirely unnecessary. He needed to get to Chichi. Alone.

Vegeta took a swift step to close the gap between them, and his vicious glare followed. "You told Bulma about Monday," he hissed in a low voice. "You told her, and now I can't use my gravity room."

Chichi took a step backwards by instinct, but she still couldn't help giggling at how spoiled Vegeta was sounding. "Wait, let me get this right – she's _punishing_ you, then?" Her giggle ballooned into a full blown bout of laughter. "How sad!"

Through the words, Chichi overlooked the fact that Vegeta wrongly accused her of tattling. How could any of the accusations sink in when he was being so childish?

A ruthless slap cut across her face and dragged her back to harsh reality. "Your laughter tells me that you do not value your life," he said with cold complacency. The basket hugging against Chichi's waist fell to the ground in an unpleasant crash; she had brought her hands to her cheek, shocked by the act.

"I'd hate to make Kakarotto happy by sending you to him so soon. Now, tell me why you ran your idiotic mouth."

The slap forced her back into using common sense, and she remembered his earlier words. That's right, he accused her of telling Bulma that he hit – no, _abused_ her.

"I didn't tell Bulma a damned thing!" she rebuked. Although her cheek was smarting, her eyes were illuminated with the vehement glint of rebellion. She tore her hands away from her cheek and drew them into heavy fists at her sides.

Vegeta glowered at Chichi and cracked his knuckles using his thumbs. Impatience was now chipping away at his barely composed demeanor. "Of course you wouldn't understand something as simple as this, so allow me to spell it out. There's no possible way Bulma would have known about Monday unless you told her. Do you take me, the Prince of all Saiyajin, for a fool?"

With a sudden streak of boldness, Chichi stepped forward in defiance. "I'm not a piece of delicate china, Vegeta. I was one of the 8 finalists in the 23rd Budokai Tenkaichi! That grip you used on me would never hurt me to point of wanting to tell Bulma about it. I didn't even think twice on it!"

"Don't lie to me, you pathetic woman."

"I don't have to tell you anything. You're the one who overstepped your boundaries that day!"

Talking down to Vegeta was without a doubt the fastest way to release his temper. "What?" he shouted. "_I_ overstepped _my_ boundaries? A human woman such as yourself has no place saying that I, of all people, overstepped my boundaries!"

"I said it once, and I'll say it again." She rolled up her sleeves and put her hands on her hips, looking every bit the Spartan-like mother she was. "You overstepped your boundaries!"

This statement dropped a myriad of bricks into the dam of pride holding back Vegeta's anger. A menacing snarl was his only tell as he formed a white ball of ki in his hand with incredible speed. He flicked his wrist, and the ki sailed towards the woman, stopping sheer centimeters away from her bust. Playing nice with her was a fool's errand; force was now necessary. "You will tell Bulma that nothing happened on Monday, woman."

Chichi turned her head a margin to the left and squinted her eye. The ball's energy was lashing into her face; the front of her dress shuddered in the wind it created. Its fury was staring her in the eye, but she stood her ground. She would kill herself before she bent to the will of Vegeta. After all, she knew that he was the one jumping to irrational conclusions, not her. "I'm not going to lie for someone like you!"

"What's that? You won't?" The Saiyajin surveyed her with a stony gaze, then broke out into a murderous grin. "I'll enjoy this, then."

He gave a slight tick of his hand – and shot the ki into her chest.

Chichi flew like a rag doll into the house, making a sickening crunch against the brick. Her body made the change from rag doll into rubber ball; she bounced off of the now shattered brick and fell into a limp pile on the ground. She laid still for one, sole moment, collecting herself and evaluating her injuries.

Air. That's what she needed. Air. She desperately clutched at her chest, trying to wheeze in all the precious air she could. "Vegeta," she growled through a whisper.

Vegeta frowned. With a blast like that, she was supposed to break all the way through the brick of the house. It seemed that she was tougher than he expected. He was already loathe to admit his miscalculation, but to his chagrin, his subconscious still found a small thrill knowing that she was stronger than what he thought. Ah, well. At the very least, her hip should be broken.

He took a casual stroll towards the back of her body and roughly nudged her hip with his foot. Chichi grit her teeth at the contact. "This is what a broken pelvic bone feels like. Painful, isn't it?" Satisfied with her distress, he dug the toe of his boot into her hip with unyielding pressure.

The woman let out a sob.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure to break more of your bones - unless you agree to tell Bulma nothing happened."

Chichi was in pain, but she was conditioned with far worse before. More than enough of her wits were still about her, and she knew Vegeta wouldn't expect her to make any of the next moves she had planned.

"I'm not going to do," – a pant of breath – "any favors for you!" Calling on a store of energy she hadn't used in eons, she rolled backwards to end up behind him, and slammed her forearm into the back of his knees.

Vegeta was on the ground before he could realize it.

He was nowhere near hurt, but he was everywhere near shocked. He scampered to all fours and gaped at Chichi in bewilderment. She was now kneeling, facing him and still looking at him with that same heated defiance. His mouth was moving, but no words came out. _Unbelievable. _He leaned back to sit back on his haunches, as he tried to understand what exactly happened.

How could this woman have knocked him off his feet? Was she that fast? That strong? No, it couldn't be. He couldn't have miscalculated her that much.

Vegeta was speechless.

And whenever Vegeta was rendered speechless, he resorted to what he knew best. Fighting.

He snatched Chichi's forearm with one hand and lifted it high enough to scoot his other hand underneath her elbow. He pushed it forward in a slow show, stressing the joint without remorse and perversely enjoying the torment scrawled across her face. "I bet you think you're clever, doing a cheap move like that," he said through a sneer. "I hope you didn't think you were actually going to hurt me."

Chichi smiled to herself. This was exactly where she wanted him. She flung her leg forward and unleashed her foot into Vegeta's groin with remarkable force.

Both of his hands flew to his groin, freeing Chichi in the process. "You miserable hag!" he screeched. He wasn't injured, but he was flabbergasted beyond belief - yet again. Unfortunately for Chichi, her actions only magnified his vexation.

Acting on the distraction she caused, Chichi picked herself up and stood – but her body was shaking from the damage it took. In stark contrast, her hands were sure and steady in front of her as she took a fighting stance. "No, I didn't think I was going to hurt you," she finally answered, "but I do think I'm someone you can't underestimate."

Vegeta fixed his eyes on the woman standing above him. He was far beyond shock and was now in the realm of numb disbelief.

_This can't be happening,_ he thought._ This stupid Earthling woman, this hellish piece of work, this worthless trash Kakarotto left behind... I misread her? I, Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyajin?_

_Unforgivable._

With his head lowered, Vegeta got up to his feet in a slow, smooth motion. The air around them became thick with gravitas, and Chichi had to shiver in response. It was obvious that he wasn't going to hold back any longer.

He locked his eyes with hers; the gaze was slathered with frigid fury. This certainly wasn't the Vegeta she had grown accustomed to. This certainly wasn't the Vegeta that had become partial to their great, beautiful Earth. This certainly wasn't the Vegeta who grew to care for a particular blue-haired human.

This was the Vegeta who wanted to hurt her. Badly.

Chichi gulped.

Her hands lowered in a brief second of terror - but she regained her senses and jerked them back up. "Y-you need to go back home!" she said, with all the bravado she could muster.

Vegeta said nothing in response. His silence pervaded the air around them, and the noise from Chichi's chattering teeth provided the antithesis. There she was, trembling with the prospect of the near future - pupils dilated, mouth parted, hair splayed. Fear was a magnificent sight when enshrined in a woman.

And then something told him that this was how he liked it.

A deep thread resting dormant in the depths of his belly awoke and curled itself around his reason. Instincts he long forgot were now announcing their arrival.

He had a quality female to prey upon.

"Vegeta?"

Barely a shred of his anger was left – the universal characteristics of Saiyajin lust were now a dominant ebb and flow within him.

He was no longer himself.

"Vegeta! What are you doing?" Chichi took a more wary stance to appraise the man as he advanced. He was acting more and more strange with every step, and to be frank, she didn't know how to react.

And then he disappeared.

The only things she could see were the slashed ribbons of his afterimage. Before she could process it, a hand clamped over her mouth from behind, and an arm gripped her around the waist. Chichi yelped in surprise, but the white glove against her mouth turned her cries into a faint muffle. She tried to tug his hand off, but her grip went lax when she realized that something was very, very wrong.

Vegeta was almost being gentle with her.

He purred in soft indulgence, pressing against her with a sensuous touch that was specifically reserved for her beloved Goku. Even though they were in the middle of a skirmish, a place where contact was to be expected, there was nothing appropriate about _this_ contact. His body aligned flush with hers, in a way far too intimate for her tastes. She tried to protest how unbefitting it was - but that same muffled cry was all she could manage.

"Silence." A hard yank left her head resting on his shoulder; his lips left a velvet touch against her ear. "You fool," he said in an amused hush. He slicked his hand over Chichi's stomach, through the silken cloth of her qi pao – and was pleased to find the taut muscularity that Bulma lacked. "You should have done what you were told."

Chichi whipped her head to the side, furiously glaring at the face so close to hers. How dare he even think to touch her in such a manner – let alone, actually do it?

She was so lost in her wrath that she didn't know when she smelled it.

A familiar scent had interrupted her thoughts and lambasted her senses. It was a distinctive, smooth musk that she could never, ever forget.

Goku.

…But it was coming from Vegeta.

Her eyes went wide as the notion hit her – Vegeta's scent, the smell of such a foul man, was exactly the same as her Goku-sa. '_It can't be! Why do they... No! What in all hell is going on?'_

Vegeta broke into a vicious smile when he saw Chichi's widened eyes. He completely misread her reaction. With an expression like that, the most logical interpretation was fear – and he tightened his grasp by a fraction. He pressed his nose into the downy crest of hair upon her temple, and with his mouth crushed behind her ear, he let out a hot whisper.

"It's too late to be frightened now."

The fraction of a grasp then turned into the vice of a thousand-fold.

Using his arm, Vegeta crushed the woman against his body; she was as good as caught between two unyielding boulders. Her tormented howl ripped through the wind as she felt her body constrict more and more. Rib bones were shattering into jagged slivers; splinters of bone pressed against her lungs and the sharp edges lacerated the soft tissue without mercy.

An agonized scream exploded past her lips. The pain was unbearable.

Vegeta's psychotic laugh, generously peppered with pleasure, was the soundtrack to her demise. He tightened his vice-like hold – her back snapped like a twig. His body swayed as he took care to break her back in exactly the right places; each vertebrae popped and cracked in succession. The man was an artisan in the métier of torture.

Chichi now knew that she was in an encounter with the ultimate suffering. All she could see were cloudy images, as if her sight was shrouded with an eerie gauze. Her mental faculties were barely there – she was beginning to slip out of consciousness.

And then Vegeta dealt his last obliterating crunch with sick, unadulterated glee.

Chichi's haze lifted as she felt several piercing-hot jabs in the left side of her body. Her broken ribs had at last punctured through the sopping wet membranes of her left lung. The bones cruelly tore rugged holes into the already mutilated organ, and utter agony seized her functions. Blood forced its way up her throat and spurted out violently through the sides of her mouth.

Her body couldn't withstand it any more.

She fell unconscious.

Vegeta smiled with satiation when he felt her body go limp against his. He let go and watched in delight as she slid to the ground in a heavy slump, laying helpless as a mangled heap of flesh and bone.

She was barely breathing.

She was barely alive.

* * *

Son Goku woke up with a start. His eyes darted up.

Above him were the usual leaves of his usual napping tree, swaying in the usual breeze. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He blinked.

He could have sworn he felt a disturbance in the ki of someone he knew back on Earth. Something had unsettled him deeply enough to rouse him from his slumber – he knew that much – but he also knew he wasn't able to feel the ki of anyone in the living realm.

His face split into a sleepy smile. What a ludicrous thought. "Nah," he mumbled, half laughing at himself. "Must have been a dream..."

A yawn and a stretch later found Goku in a sound, peaceful sleep once more.

* * *

Trunks and Goten snapped their heads up from the toy mecha they were playing with. All attention fell on the direction of Mt. Paozu.

"Did you feel something just now, Trunks-kun?" Goten bit his lip, unsure of what was happening and unsure of what he felt.

Trunks glanced at his best friend with a bit of worry before nodding. "I-I think so."

* * *

_Mother._

Gohan dropped the fish slung across his back and whipped his head towards the direction of his house. He had felt a familiar ki escalate to an intimidating level and then drop back down. Soon after, he felt his mother's ki disperse into nearly nothing.

"No," he murmured in sheer incredulity. "Mother... what's going on? No, no, no!"

Without another thought, Gohan powered up to the golden fury of a second level of Saiyajin. He blasted himself off the ground and plowed through the air at breakneck speed, taking the fastest trajectory he knew.

All his might rested on the sole possibility of this being his mother successfully masking her ki.

* * *

He had done it.

He finally conquered her.

Vegeta looked down at Chichi. The woman had defended herself fairly well – far better than he had expected. Nevertheless, there was no way she could have defended against his decimating hold. She was no match for him whatsoever, but with the exception of Juuhachigou, she was the strongest female Earthling he had ever encountered.

And then he became even more jealous of Son Goku.

He had a wife who could tolerate pain, formulate strategies, and possibly manipulate her ki if she only attempted it. Out of all the females on the alien planet, Goku somehow found the strongest one. Vegeta let out a derisive snort. _How Saiyajin of you, Kakarotto._

He turned his attention back to his prize; he dragged his lascivious gaze across the broken body at his feet. The smell of blood seeped into his senses and a small chill raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It was the fragrance of a job well done, of a worthy woman completely dominated. His eyes glazed over – the sensation was unhinged intoxication.

He hadn't felt this way in far too long.

Vegeta squatted down on one knee and took his time running his finger through the trail of blood leaking from Chichi's mouth. A wild thrill danced down his spine and took shameless root in the raw core of his being. He continued sliding his finger down, fluidly slipping it along her neck while slicing his nail into the soft flesh. He sucked in a sharp, terse breath at the sight. A thin line of blood was left in his finger's wake, and the scene embedded into Vegeta's memory. He would make sure to remember this – Kakarotto's wife, pathetic and powerless under his touch. Kakarotto's wife, tied with the fragile threads of the little leniency he had left. Kakarotto's wife, laying ready for him to take all for himself...

_Gohan._

Gohan's rapidly approaching ki seemed to reach inside his very soul, rousing him from his primitive thought.

He had to snap out of it.

His thoughts bumbled and fumbled around his noisy mind as his subconscious gave way to his conscious being. As his subconscious grew dimmer and dimmer, it was yelling at him to stay, to stay and complete what his instincts were yearning and pleading to do – but he had to go. Gods, he didn't want to, he didn't want to–

–But he had to.

Using incredible self-discipline, he dragged himself out of the drunken stupor of his Saiyajin bloodlust and applied his mind to the present.

His mind was still addled as he surveyed the area. Gohan's ki was getting closer. Sticking around wasn't an option. He needed to get out of there.

Now.

Even though he had surpassed Gohan's power levels in these times of peace, he had seen his rage 4 years prior at the Cell Games. Gohan was nothing to shrug off, Gohan was no easy target to plow through or sidestep. Even entering a scuffle with the boy would send waves of trouble through the damned circle he was a part of on Earth. Seeing his mother in this state was certainly something that would send Gohan into a blind fury – and Vegeta simply didn't want to reap the consequences of provoking him.

So it was time to go.

Vegeta figured that Gohan wouldn't recognize his ki signature too readily – the boy had severely neglected his training; he was most likely too rusty. Detecting the ki signatures of loved ones was probably easy enough for the boy, but Vegeta could hardly say that Gohan called him a loved one. It'd make sense for Gohan to look in the skies for the unknown ki. The best way back was by foot.

For Vegeta, this was a rare instance where his common sense trumped his desire to fight, and he didn't like it one bit. He begrudgingly set off into the forest and ran with tremendous speed back to the Capsule Corporation.

As he ran back to the place he scorned to call home, his mind flitted upon Bulma. He wasn't oblivious – he fully understood that he did something his mate would perceive as so very, very bad.

He couldn't care less. It had felt so very, very good.

Besides... she didn't have to know about _that_ bit.

* * *

Finally.

Gohan had finally reached home.

He stumbled as he landed, hasty and rushed with enough force to plunge a deep crack in the ground beneath him. His eyes desperately evaluated the area - his mother had to be around there somewhere. "Mom!" he screamed. "Mother, where are you?"

His eyes landed on a delicate body, laying lifeless near the entrance of their house.

Gohan's quicksilver reactions transformed into a sludge, and his legs almost gave out. "No," came his crackling noise.

He drifted over to the side of the body, dropping to his knees in weakness. A lump formed in the middle of his throat, and he thickly swallowed it down. "No," his voice cracked again, softly. "It can't be... this can't be happening. This_ isn't_ happening...!"

He lurched forward, slamming his hands in the ground while letting out an anguished wail.

"MOM!"


End file.
